And then
the uniform! It was the outward symbol of the lost selfishness and the
cleaner honour. It hadn't been paid for; it wouldn't be paid for till
I had lived in the trenches. I was childishly anxious to earn my right
to wear it. I had said "Good-bye" to myself, and had been re-born into
willing sacrifice. I think that was the reason for the difference of
spirit in which I read the two headlines. We've all gone through the
same spiritual gradations, we men who have got to the Front. None of
us know how to express our conversion. All we know is that from being
little circumscribed egoists, we have swamped our identities in a
magnanimous crusade. The venture looked fatal at first; but in losing
the whole world we have gained our own souls.
On a beautiful day in late summer I sailed for France. England faded
out like a dream behind. Through the haze in mid-Channel a hospital
ship came racing; on her sides were blazoned the scarlet cross. The
next time I came to England I might travel on that racing ship. The
truth sounded like a lie. It seemed far more true that I was going on
my annual pleasure trip to the lazy cities of romance.
The port at which we disembarked was cheery and almost normal. One saw
a lot of khaki mingling with sky-blue tiger-men of France. Apart from
that one would scarcely have guessed that the greatest war in the
world's history was raging not more than fifty miles away. I slept the
night at a comfortable hotel on the quayside.
Pages:
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76